


You Give Love a Bad Name

by phillipthefrog



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 06:41:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7498104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phillipthefrog/pseuds/phillipthefrog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean tries to grapple with a Castiel's new boyfriend while he and Sam try to solve a mysterious haunting in a beautiful Victorian mansion before it and it's bizarre curse claims another victim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Give Love a Bad Name

_Anne Collins_

It was the house of their dreams, a grand Victorian mansion with narrow rooms sprawled about in a maze of oak trimmings, bay windows and floral wallpaper. The smell of dust and aged wood lingered in the shadows of the irregular and seemingly random corners of the old parlor, the dining room, or the attic. It gave it an air of a romantic sort of mystery. It charmed Anne immediately. She loved the long dark mahogany staircase and the secret turns to find a hidden bedroom the size of a closet but most of all, she loved the balcony at the end of the 2nd floor hall with its tall wondrous French doors. Beyond it, she could see the hills like blue shadows in the distance.

            My! Did she love that house! She even loved the sounds of the old floorboards creaking beneath her feet or the howling of the old pipes behind the walls. But my god, could it be loud during a thunderstorm! Especially during the summer months when it seemed as if the whole night sky was going to crash down upon them.

            It was such a night in middle of August when Anne tossing and turning in her sleep, jumped up with a start from a loud crash that shook the whole house. For a minute there, she thought the world was ending. Her heart pounded in her chest as if it were trying to flee her body in fear. Her instinct was to shake James awake but when her hand grazed the cold sheet beside her, she remembered that he wasn’t there.

            She should have known. In her mind, she chastised herself. Idiot. Idiot. Of course he wasn’t there. For months, he had chosen instead to fall asleep downstairs in front of the television than be near her. She couldn’t blame him. As his wife, she knew she had failed. He didn’t love this house the way she did and it only seemed to make the curious sorrow that clung to him worse.

            The panic had left her but in its empty hole, a deep regret flooded in and all Anne could think about was how stupid she had been when James had finally come to her and told her that something was wrong with him, that something was wrong with this house. He told her he was sad, that he couldn’t get out of bed in the morning, or even go to sleep at night. She babbled something in response. Something stupid? Something foolish? Something like perhaps you need a vacation or you’ll get over it? She couldn’t even recall her words, the feeling of shame was so great.

            _You’ve made it worse_. She said to herself. The words echoing in her brain as if her conscience quite literally was speaking to her. _You’ve failed him. You’ve put him in this haunted house. Made him live here even though it frightened him. You’ve isolated him. You choose this house over him. You’ve broken his heart._ Why couldn’t she just go down there and tell him she loved him. Why couldn’t she just tell him that she was there for him? It was as if her feet were stuck in cement and she was frozen in place. _You imbecile, you don’t really love him, do you? You cruel, cruel woman. Why would you make him suffer?_ 10 years of marriage down the drain. 10 years of his life. He moved away from his family in Michigan for you and all you care about is your job, your foolish ambition, your practice, your stupid Victorian house with its pretty balcony. What about what he wanted? _Do you even know what he wants?_

            The guilt ate at her. She could hardly take it. _Monster. You terrible monster_.

            Above her the storm raged. Guilt and fear and heartbreak intermingled in her chest. She felt as if she were going mad. The thunder crashed. She jumped to her feet. Above her it smashed again. Again and again as if it were chasing her. She felt suddenly as if she had to end it. It was collapsing onto her, the roof, the house, the sky.

            _He is suffering and it’s all your fault._

It wasn’t her voice. It was someone else’s and yet, did it matter? It was true.

            She ran from the room and into the dark hall. At the end, the French doors of the balcony were thrown ajar and the storm, wet and furious raged in. Outside the blue light flashed against the shadows inside. Anne felt it draw her, pull her, push her. She felt herself walking towards the balcony. She stepped out into the night, feeling the hot rain pelting against her face.

            _How could you, you fool?_

            She lifted her leg and stepped up on the ledge. The thunder roared and resounded throughout the halls of the beautiful Victorian behind her just before she let herself fall right down to her death.

 

_The Bunker_

Sam flipped through the channels on the old brown television as he mindlessly ate his morning cereal. He watched the news for a while before the newscasters changed the subject from a fatal car accident to a celebrity gossip bit with unsettling ease. There was the usual nature programming but he was sad to say he’d already seen this episode on the mighty power of dung beetles. Did he really watch that much television? He let himself land on the murder mystery channel.

            “Sammy, really?” Dean grunted as he entered the kitchen, still wearing his short grey robe. He didn’t even wait for a response before heading to the coffee machine and pouring it into one of the little dainty tea cups the former Men of Letters had stocked in the kitchen. It took several weeks for Dean to stop pulling away from the cups every time he drank from one with a mild look of disgust and bewilderment. The fact that there was nothing but these tiny little tea cups in the cupboards only drove home to Dean that the Men of Letters were nothing but glorified librarians. He imagined them sipping earl grey with their pinkies up.

            “Change it,” Dean winced.

            Without argument, Sam obeyed. The next station Voyage had swapped its typical travel programming over the years with hauntings and big foot sightings. “Paranormal Mysteries” flashed across the screen.

            “Alright!” Dean cheered. “Let see how many of these I’ve got under my belt.”

            “Most of this stuff is probably made up,” Sam replied although in truth, he was just as curious.

            “Cursed Mansion” The next title card read. A woman, wearing a semi-formal looking white polo sat in front of a black screen. Below her image, a graphic identified her as a local San Francisco historian.

            “The Agatha Longfellow mansion was built in the late 1800s by Agatha and her husband Joseph. Agatha had been an heiress to her father’s newspaper business and Joseph, a very successful businessman in his own right had made his money selling fine ceramics. In fact, one of his main clients included the great Marshall Fields.”

            “Blah, blah, blah…” Dean sipped his coffee. Images of the grand Victorian mansion flashed in a cryptic sepia montage across the screen with random shots of a black cat nervously dodging the camera and a stone angel statue praying in some random gothic looking fountain. “Reminds me, have you heard from Cas?” Before Sam could answer, Dean pulled out his cellphone. It’s been two damn weeks since he heard from him.

            “No,” Sam answered. He couldn’t take his eyes off the T.V. Anything macabre tickled him.

            “10 years after being happily married, Joseph committed suicide by jumping off the 2nd floor balcony onto the stone walkway beneath. After her husband’s death, Agatha lived the remaining 30 years of her life alone, never re-marrying or having children. The home eventually moved to her great niece. Since her death, there has been over two dozen owners, 5 suicides, as well as countless accidents.”

            More shots of the backyard angel mixed in with the inverted angles of the balcony. Halloween stock music played in the background. Dean, not looking up stared at the text message conversation between him and Cas. “got   togo.” It read. Cas and his damn typos.

            “People that have visited the home have reported cold spots, shadows, and passersby have even reported seeing a woman staring out from the 2nd floor window,” the woman continued.

            Sam curious took out his own phone and plugged in ‘Longfellow cursed mansion’ into the search engine. To his amazement, several recent news articles popped up. _Cursed Mansion Claims Another… Anne Collins, San Francisco Dermatologist jumps to her death from Haunted Longfellow Balcony…. Someone Call the Ghostfacers, Agatha Longfellow claims another…_ “Dean, there might be something to this. Look, two days ago a woman killed herself by jumping off the same balcony Joseph Longfellow jumped off of a hundred years ago.”

            “Really?” Dean grabbed the phone from his hand. “Wow. So this haunting is legit?”

            “Looks like it.”

            “Hm… I guess we have a case.”

            Glancing at his brother’s phone, seeing the same text message conversation on the screen yet again, Sam somewhere between amusement and irritation quipped, “Why don’t you just call him? Or pray to him for that matter.” He stood up to go fetch his computer so he could continue researching Anne Collins’ death.

            Angrily, Dean countered “And say what? Why haven’t you called?”

            “Yeah. That’s what a normal person would do.” Sam threw his brother one of his mocking smirks.

            “No.” Dean’s lips curled in a slight and sour frown. “And come off clingy? I just worry. He always seems to get his little feathery ass caught in some heavenly bird trap.”

            Sam sighed. This was too exhausting. He could just say whatever and put an end to it but then again, he didn’t feel like driving all the way to California with Dean playing moody 80s ballads and checking his phone constantly like some anxious teenaged girl. “Castiel!” he called out, wrapping his hands into a ball as if the useless prayer-like gesture would help get his message across. “It’s me, Sam. I’m just calling in to check on you and make sure you’re doing okay.”

            Dean glowered at his little brother, one part angry that he had the nerve to suddenly start calling out to Cas and another part put off by the gentle way he prayed to him. He spoke in the same soft voice he used to charm people when they were on a case. Why that annoyed him, he wasn’t quite sure. Sam would probably tell him it had something to do with his discomfort for showing affection, especially to people he actually cared about. But screw that Dr. Phil -talking about emotions, lovey-dovey crap. Dean squirmed in his chair.

            “Sam, you called?” The deep gentle voice. There he was, standing behind Sam in his trench coat, a blue tie, and his sweet sad expression. Dean could tell he had recently shaved.

            “Hey Cas,” Sam smiled and before the angel could hug him, he patted him on the shoulder. “Just wanted to check in on you and see how you were doing since we haven’t heard from you in a while.”

            Cas responded with a genuine smile of his own. “I’m doing great, Sam. Thank you for asking. And how are you?”

            “Great,” Sam turned to Dean who was sitting there trying to conceal how relieved he was that Cas wasn’t held prisoner by some new annoying angelic upstart or god knows what.

            “Dean,” Cas greeted him warmly.

            “Hey there, buddy,” He stood up and smiled.

            “It’s good to see you,” Cas said, his eyes soft with tenderness. It made Sam immensely uncomfortable. Cas could lie about things he’s seen or conversations he’d had but he couldn’t lie about his emotions. The plainness of his words betrayed the sincerity and feeling behind them. When he said Sam’s name, it was always with a sweetness the way one speaks to a child but with Dean, there was always a curious desperation or relief.

            “Whatcha been up to, buddy?” Dean threw a gentle punch at his shoulder.

            “I’ve been helping people, Dean. Answering prayers.”

“Look at you, you little tree topper.” Dean laid a long, lingering congratulatory touch on Cas’ shoulder.

After a long and awkward pause, Cas looked to the floor sheepishly. “Also, I’ve met someone.”

“Met someone?”

“Yes.”

“Wow, Cas,” Sam was the one now to pat him on the back. “I’m happy for you.”

“Like a someone someone?” Dean grinned.

“Yes, a someone,someone. I’m dating,” he announced proudly. It was the same type of satisfaction that he had when he first decided to become a hunter. Hopefully, this time his attempts at human-like behavior would be more successful.

“You’re sure she’s not a reaper?” Dean teased. He was proud of his little angel. He imagined that Cas’ type was the PTA, church going kind and although he suspected that it would be short lived, he felt a curious pride that his little dorky friend was finally getting some action.

“No. Definitely not a reaper. I’m an angel now, Dean. I am aware of the presence of any other celestial or any other type of supernatural beings,” he replied rather matter-of-factly as if Dean had somehow forgotten.

“Well maybe so, you little tiger. Let her take you out on three dates alright before you start showing her your angel blade?” he let out a chuckle and a wink.

Sam noticed that despite Dean’s positive response, Cas appeared to be holding something back. He diverted his eyes and stared at the floor. Dean if he had noticed Cas’ sudden reluctant behavior, seemed too pleased with his perverted puns to remark on it.

“Well, the relationship is quite serious…”

“Serious?” Dean smiled. He seemed to entertain the idea but in all honesty, girlfriends didn’t last long around here.

“That’s wonderful, Cas. I’m happy you’re meeting new people,” Sam added.

“You know what,” Dean grabbed his cup and went to refill it. “Me and Sam are going on a hunt soon but why don’t you bring your date over for dinner tonight, hmm? I’ll cook. I’ll make some pasta. Yeah?”

“I don’t enjoy that taste of food, Dean,” Cas answered, his voice deep with reservation.

“Oh come on, it’s not about the food. It’s about seeing if she passes the family test,” Dean sipped the coffee. Sam watched his brother, suspicious of the gleam in his eyes. They were darker than usual, almost brown. They became that way when he had some type of wicked thought that Sam absolutely did not want to think about. He suspected that Dean, in some weird way got off on the idea of Cas with some woman. He was always a bit of a voyeur.

            “It’s okay, if you don’t want to,” Sam added.

            The angel sighed as if he were first time parachuter about to jump from a plane. Sam could tell that he had come to the decision that it was best just to get it over with. “We’ll come.”

            Dean smirked devilishly. “Awesome” he said, taking a whole drink of the coffee now despite it burning his tongue.

_Dean_

He was a damned good cook. Went with him being such a catch, he thought to himself. Perhaps I should add that to my online dating profile. “Good in the kitchen, good in the bedroom.” or maybe he should write “Sweet looks, mean bod. Keeps it hot in both the kitchen and in the bedroom...” Maybe he should also talk about how good with kids he was? “Damn, Dean!” he said to himself. “You’re the whole package.”

            “Why are you smiling?” Sam winced, entering the kitchen. For the special dinner, he managed to iron out one of his more decent looking plaid shirts. “Stop smiling.”

            “Just thinking what a babe I am. I hope Cas’ little girlfriend won’t get any ideas.”

            Sam grabbed beer from the fridge, disappointed that with the direction this conversation was going there wasn’t something harder. “I don’t think any girl that is interested in Cas would be interested in you.”

            “What? You’re joking, right? Every woman wants this. What does Cas have that I don’t have? Unless she has a nerd kink and in that case, perhaps you shouldn’t be there.” He was pleased with his little burn.

            “No offense but you’re like the dumb jock with the clap and he’s the awkward cute little blue-eyed kitten.” It evidently felt good to rub it in his brother’s face. “You’re like the prostitute in an old western with a heart of gold,” he continued. “And Cas is like the boy next door. See where I’m going with this?”

            “Hey!” Dean pointed his spatula at him. “You know, I’m not going to get mad at that because you know what Sammy, I can’t have everything,” he smiled. “And someone’s gotta take the little slow, mentally challenged kitten home.”

            “Right,” Sam took a big swig from the bottle. “Just don’t scare her away.”

            “Don’t worry about that,” Dean added some more spices to his sauce. “Once she realizes our little kitten has claws, she might just bring him back to the shelter.”       

Before he could reply, Sam’s phone buzzed. “Here,” the message read.

            “Is it the little kitten?” Dean inquired. Sam was beginning to regret the kitten analogy. Dean seemed to like it too much.

_Sam_

_Oh Fuck_. Those two words ran repeatedly through Sam’s brain. _Oh Fuck. Oh Fuck. Oh Fuck_. It wasn’t that Sam was bothered by what he saw-not at all. He just did not, absolutely did not want to deal with the fallout. He knew Dean well enough to know that he would not take this lightly.

            “Sam,” Cas greeted him.

            “Cas.”

            “This is Jason.” _Jason_. Yup. _Jason._ Standing next to Cas, was a tall man, about an inch or two shy from Sam’s own abnormal height. Jason, lacking Cas’ innocence greeted him with an unsure smile.

            They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. Jason was indeed handsome, with black hair and large dark eyes. He wore a thick, trimmed beard. Tufts of chest hair could be seen from the button down light blue shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled up to reveal his thick forearms. He was somewhere in his early 30s or late 20s, perhaps younger than even Sam. Somehow, he knew that would make it worse.

            “Interesting place you’ve got here. Castiel told me you and your brother live here?”

            “Yeah. It’s um...a family thing. We do research here, collect antiques.” He wondered how much Cas told him. He assumed that since he sent a text to get into the bunker instead of just appearing that Jason was still unaware that Cas was not exactly human. Since Cas didn’t correct him, Sam figured his estimation was correct.

            “Let’s meet the lovely lady!” He heard Dean say from the kitchen. A strange tension suddenly filled the air. He turned to see his brother, staring wide eyed at Jason.

            “Dean,” Cas greeted. Between a long and painful pause, he continued, “This is Jason. He’s my boyfriend.”

            “Boyfriend?” There was no emotion in Dean’s voice. The joviality had left him in an instant as if it were smacked out of him. “Boyfriend?” he repeated again, this time inching closer as if somehow Jason coming more and more into focus would cease to be a man.

“Yes,” Cas calmly answered. Sam could tell however, that Jason was irritated with Dean’s response.

“You have a boyfriend?” Sam wanted to turn and scream at his brother. HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES ARE YOU GOING TO ASK HIM?! But instead smiled uncomfortably.

With the patience of a saint, Jason extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Dean,” he said in a measured voice. “Castiel has told me so much about you and how much your friendship has meant to him.” Sam could tell that Jason has had to go through this before and despite the pain of such an encounter he had the grace to respond with dignity.

“What’s your name?” Dean was examining him, his mouth still slightly gaping and his brow furrowed in what could either be anger or confusion. Needless to say, he didn’t take Jason’s hand almost as if he was still too surprised to realize it was there.

“Jason.”

“Jason?” Dean was in disbelief. “JASON? Boyfriend?” Man did Sam want to smack the stupid look off his face. He glanced at Cas staring at the floor in discomfort and shame.

            Before Sam could come to his rescue, Cas perhaps finally getting angry said, “Dean. I would appreciate it if you treated Jason with more respect.” He traded his look of humiliation for one of defiance. The last time he looked at Dean like that it was to remind him that he was a powerful angel who could squish Dean like a bug but not now, it was to remind him that despite everything they had gone through, their friendship had limits.

            Dean clenched his jaw and met his friend’s eyes. They stared at each other for several long moments. Sam forced himself to wear a constant pleasant smile as if the whole terribly uncomfortable situation was no big deal at all.

            “Right…” Dean’s voice was barely audible. “Sorry. Cas,” he glared at him. “Failed to warn me.”

            “I don’t think you need a warning,” Jason replied. “I’m not a dangerous individual.” Sam realized he was attempting to make a joke for Cas’ benefit although his eyes bore far less amusement.

            Dean had to look up at Jason when they spoke and now the two men shared menacing looks.

            “I’m sorry,” Cas said softly, as if he were speaking only to Dean. Sam wondered if Jason noticed this slight preference. “I should have said something earlier.” Turning to Jason now, Cas attempted to explain, “Dean is not the bigot you may assume him to be.” Sam cringed at Cas’ bluntness. “Despite his many virtues, Dean suffers from the unfortunate need to fulfill societal standards of masculinity and is improving his response to events regarding nontraditional forms of sexuality, particularly pertaining to men. He is though, very accepting of lesbians,” Cas said all this as if merely reporting facts. Dean as he spoke, grew more and more uncomfortable. He clenched his jaw and stared at the side of Cas’ face, thinking undoubtedly that Cas was a naive idiot.

            “Um...please take a seat,” Sam said as he grabbed his brother’s arm and squeezed with as much force as he could muster. “Me and Dean are going to set the table.” Dragging him back to the kitchen, he nearly punched him right in his stupid indignant face. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Sam spat through his teeth. “Why are you acting like a dick?”

            “I don’t know Sammy, hmm? Perhaps because Cas’ date has one?”

            “And you really think that calls for that kind of behavior?”

            “Why on earth didn’t he say something, huh?”

            “Why would he have to? We’re his friends, we are supposed to support him no matter what.”

            “If we are his friends, then why didn’t he tell us, he was into…” He couldn’t even bring himself to say it.

            “Because. It. Doesn’t. Matter.”

            “Of course, it matters.”

            “Honestly, Dean. How?” Sam was definitely livid and definitely giving Dean the bitch face.

            Dean didn’t answer. He looked however as if he wanted to spit curses. “I’ll set the table out there for Brokeback Mountain out there but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

           

_Cas_

 

This was far worse than Cas could have imagined. Like a petulant child, Dean tapped his foot angrily and stared at Cas’ face as if he had betrayed him. Did you betray him? When were you supposed to tell him? Was there a time before now? _I should have said something…_ Perhaps he can repair the damage and help Dean see Jason’s virtue. But was that really the problem? It made Cas uncomfortable to think that Dean was so homophobic and yet despite this perceived failing, Cas couldn’t suppress the urge to placate Dean.

            “Jason is a firefighter,” he said.

            “That’s wonderful,” Sam commented. Oh sweet Sam, Cas thought. He appreciated his efforts to ease the situation and make Cas feel welcome.

            “He’s very brave and selfless.” Perhaps if Dean could see the great qualities that he and Jason share, maybe he’ll warm up to him. “He is very funny too. And he...um...is very close to his family.”

            Dean didn’t seem to respond.

            “That’s good,” Sam said.

            “He too likes Classic Rock and baked goods,” he informed Dean who replied rather coldly, with a mocking twist of the lip as if everything Cas said was stupid. He hated it when he treated him that way. He felt his ears grow hot and his stomach turn. Dean had a way of making Cas feel truly and utterly insignificant. He was an immortal and powerful being who has watched the comings and goings of eons and generations of men. He knew it was foolish to pin his self-worth on the opinion of a mere man, even if it was Dean Winchester.

            Ignoring him, Dean leaned in and glued his eyes to Jason. “So, why do you like Cas so much? Is it because he sings your praises?”

            “Dean-” Sam interrupted.

            “It’s ok, Sam,” Jason answered. “I can handle guys like him. I grew up dealing with guys like him.”

            “Oh, baby. There’s nobody else like me,” a coy smirk etched across his face. Cas could see Sam rolling his eyes.

            “Since you’re Castiel’s friend, I’d imagine you are well aware of his many wonderful and beautiful qualities,” Jason looked at Dean as if he thought Dean was the most asinine and disgusting thing in the world. Despite his better judgment, Cas desperately wanted to intervene and tell him that Dean is just prickly and angry and explain to him somehow that it went back to his difficult relationship with his father growing up but he knew that it wasn’t the time and place and in all likelihood, would just make things worse.

            Coolly, Dean answered, “You have no idea. You’ll never know him like I know him.” Why was he acting like this? Why did seem as if he was bragging. Cas looked at Dean, begging him to stop with his eyes but Dean refused to stare at anything besides Jason.

            “That’s true.” Jason leaned forward, never breaking his gaze. It was a stare down and each man was determined to win. “But I know Castiel in ways you’ll never know him.” His voice was barely above a whisper and said with such suggestion and vindictiveness that Sam in his great discomfort, cleared his throat.

            The look of utter hate on Dean’s face was truly terrifying. “Please,” Cas said to them both.

            “Cas-Ti-El” Dean mocked. “Cas is just fine. If you really knew him you would know that.”

            “Dean, I’m perfectly comfortable with both forms of my name.”

            Finally looking at him, Dean was in utter shock. Was this the final straw? Cas was unsure. What was going on? “I thought you liked being called Cas.”

            “I don’t have a preference, Dean.”

            “Oh, so you rather me call you Castiel? Like some weirdo stranger.”

            “I don’t have a pref-”

            “Now isn’t that the damn problem, ain’t it Cas? Oh I mean _Cas-Ti-el._ Whatever man.” Dean shot up from his seat. He was nearly belligerent now. “I don’t care how many classic rock records he likes, or whether he prefers strudel to pie, or how many kittens he saves from trees, I don’t like him,” he said, staring straight at Jason.

            Sam muttered to himself, “The fucking kitten thing,” and rubbed his face.

            “Dean!” Cas rose to his feet. “Why can’t you just act normal? Did you treat Charlie’s dates the same way?”

            “Oh come on, Cas!” Dean faced him. “You know it’s not the same.”

            “Why not?” Couldn’t Dean see how hurt he was?

            “You know why.”

            “Truly, Dean, I don’t.”

“I know why…” Jason said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Cas continued, “All I see is my best friend hurting the man I-”

“OH FOR GODDSAKE!” Dean threw his hands up in the air. “If you say that so help me…”                         “Dean,” Sam couldn’t take it anymore. “It’s okay for Cas to be close to someone other than us.”

Jason scoffed. “Us?”

Cas had had enough. “Well, thank you for preparing food this evening but I think it’s best if Jason and I leave.”

“Yeah, I think that’s best.” Cas looked at him pleadingly. Why was Dean being so cruel?

Jason rose from his seat and approached his adversary. He looked down at him from his superior height. “Guys like you make me sad. Honestly. But if you hurt Castiel, don’t think I won’t make you pay.”

“Same goes for you.”

“You know what,” Jason looked Dean up and down with visible disgust. “Something tells me that you already make it a habit.”

Cas noticing Sam looking at him, met his gaze. He could tell from the look of pity in Sam’s eyes that he and Jason were of the same opinion.

_Dean_

The guilt was overwhelming. Although he couldn’t lie, he was used to feeling like a bag of dicks. They had been driving for several hours. Illinois was long gone as they inched across Route 66. Sam seething at Dean’s display of douchery refused to talk to him once they left the bunker. He wished he hadn’t acted like that, like some godawful homophobe. That wasn’t who he was. Hell, if it had been Garth or any of his other friends who brought over some guy, he would never have acted that way. When Jason stood up to him, toe to toe and called him out, a look of knowing passed between them. Dean was aware of what it was. He glimpsed at it occasionally, as if he were lifting up a heavy lid off a box and peaking in at it but he wasn’t ready to throw the whole lid off. God knows what kind of hell is would unleash for him. There wasn’t much Dean Winchester feared. He’d been stabbed, shot, tortured, ripped up into a thousand little pieces but he feared what was in there. It was like the fear of not being brave enough or strong enough, of letting down his old man or Sam.

            But why did you have to hurt Cas’ feelings, you fucking son of a bitch? He thought of the sad, defeated look in Cas’ large blue eyes. You have made it a habit to hurt him, haven’t you? That’s what a coward does, he replied himself. Hurt them before they can hurt you.

            _You’re so damaged._ Why was he thinking of Bela Talbot now? He wondered if she had ever in her whole short life ever loved anyone. Good on you Bela, he mentally saluted. It ain’t nothing but pain.

            The silence had seemed to get to Sam. He reached over and flipped on the radio. _A Day in the Life._ “Look, you really need to apologize to him and to Jason,” he said finally.

            Dean took a deep breath. “I know.”

            “I think you really hurt his feelings.”

            “Yeah. I really shouldn’t have pushed away the only angel in our arsenal,” he said without any ounce of feeling.

            “Dean, it’s not even about that.” Sam acted as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Cas is our friend. He’s your friend. Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you but you don’t have a right to take it out on him.”

            “I know, Sam,” Dean nearly screamed. He gripped the steering wheel tighter. His stomach was turning and his heart ached. “I’m a fucking asshole but we already knew that.”

            “Do you want to talk about it?”

            Dean turned and stared at him. “Really? There’s nothing to talk about.”

            “Yeah, there is. It makes you uncomfortable thinking Cas is in love with a man.”

            Dean felt his blood pressure rising. “In love? Please. Cas doesn’t love him. He’s a pretty boy with a chiseled chin,” he mocked. “He probably thinks the Beatles are better than Led Zeppelin.”

            A wicked smiled developed on Sam’s face as he sat up in his seat. “Oh my god, Dean. You’re jealous.”

            “What?! I’m not jealous. I just think Cas can do better, that’s all.”

            “He’s a firefighter! And he’s hot.”

            “Oh no, not you too.”

            Sam grinned evilly. “Why are you so jealous of him? Because he’s taller and younger than you? Because he’s better looking?”

            “Oh hell the fuck no, Sammy,” he nearly swerved baby into a ditch. “You’re my brother but I know you know better than that.”

            “Is it because Cas would pick him over you?”

            Dean shook his head. “Cas would never pick him over me.” But would he? He probably was with him right now. Dean didn’t want to think about it anymore.

“You know what, Dean,” Sam grew suddenly serious. “I think you’re right about that and that’s the problem.”

“What?”

“Cas wouldn’t pick him over you. Cas time and time again picks you above everything else.”             “He picks you too.”

“You know it isn’t the same. At first, it was because I’m your brother. Cas and I are friends but you two are just…” he searched for the word. “Closer?”

Close. Is that what they were? “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’ll call him when we get to the motel and I’ll apologize for my behavior, okay? End of story.”

But once they got to the motel, Cas wasn’t answering. He wasn’t answering his text messages, the 10 phone calls, or even the prayers.

“Come on Cas!” Dean was sitting on the edge of the suspiciously yellow bathtub staring up at the matching water stained ceiling. “Cas, buddy, come down here. I’m sorry I was such an ass. Please, Cas. You can…” Why was this so hard? “Love…” he said the word as if it were one of his teeth and he was pulling it out with a pair of tweezers. “Who you want.” Still nothing. “Cas!”

Sam opened the door. “He’s not answering you, is he?” He must have heard him shouting into emptiness.

Dean shot up. “This is bullshit. You better have brought the beer cooler up from the car,” he said pushing his way past his brother.

“Maybe he’s busy with Jason.”

Dean did not have the energy to deal with Sam’s shit. Not right now. Not today. Before he could turn around and unleash, Sam said he would get the beer.

***

 

“So let me get this straight, the FBI is investigating a suicide? The neighbor clearly saw Mrs. Collins jump from the 2nd floor balcony.” The policewoman folded her arms and took a step back to get a good look at these two. Around her the busy San Francisco police department hummed like a room full of bees.

            “Right. Well, we’re investigating the nature of copycat suicides involving famous events,” Sam answered. He gave the woman his best puppy face. She was around his age but seemingly unimpressed.

            “I’m sorry...Agent?”

            “Bonham and Jones.”

            “Agent Bonham and Agent Jones,” she still wasn’t buying it. “I just don’t get why that would be the FBI’s problem.

            “We’re correlating the dangers of psychological effects of famous deaths on suicidal or homicidal prone individuals and whether classifying such events can prevent deaths in the future.” Where the fuck did he pull this shit from? After all these years, Dean still couldn’t figure it out.             “Hey if the NSA can put their fingers where they don’t belong than not why not us?” Dean smiled smugly.

            The policewoman narrowed her eyes at him. “Sure. Whatever. But I guess I’ll have you know that the house is swarming with murder and mystery freaks.” She handed Sam the cream colored case file. “Also her husband checked himself into a psych hospital so you won’t be able to talk to him. Apparently, it wasn’t his first stint at the place either.”

            “I’m sorry?” Sam tilted his head.

            “Apparently the guy had really bad depression.”

            “So both the Mr. and Mrs. were on suicide watch?” Dean inquired.

            “I guess so although Anne Collins if she was indeed depressed, was never diagnosed. Usually, we hear the same thing from families that they didn’t see it coming but people were truly shocked by this one. She didn’t even leave a suicide note.”

            “Thank you for your time,” Sam shook her hand. Heading back to the Impala, he flipped through the folder. “Yup. That fits with the other suicides. No notes left, no one saw it coming. Another weird thing is that each victim was married to someone who was known to be depressed.”

            “So what are you saying? That the depression somehow jumped to the spouse?”

            “I don’t know. But that’s what it looks like.”

            The policewoman wasn’t lying. The old Victorian was indeed swarming with small time camera crews and people lurking about. A pair of girls handed the boom guy their phone and asked him to take a picture of them standing in front of the supposedly haunted 19th century mansion.

            “Is the Longfellow mansion cursed?” A man said provocatively, moving his head back and forth as he stared intensely into a camera. “What happens there?” he pointed up. “At this small, unassuming balcony that has claimed so many innocent lives?”

            “What’s up with all these vultures?” Dean muttered, climbing out from the driver’s seat.

            “People are fascinating by the supernatural,” Sam explained.

            “Yeah, yeah. They need to get out more.”

            “Says the guy who has a hundred hours of hentai on his computer.”

            Dean rolled his eyes. Getting inside the mansion to his great surprise, was rather easy. In fact, the door was wide open and a middle aged woman, dressed in a long dark satin dress ushered people in and out. Her thick curly black hair was carefully arranged in rivulets down her back and her exposed bosom where a dramatic black and white cameo was nestled in her cleavage.

            “Um, what is going on here?” He asked her, pulling out his badge. Her eyes flashed with immediate irritation at the sight of it.

“I’m taking care of the house in Mr. Collins’ absence as he deals with the loss of his wife.”

“So you are turning his home into a ghost exhibit?” Dean never understood these people. Didn’t they realize this shit wasn’t a game?  


“He explicitly asked me to do this.”

 

“And why would he do that?”

 

“Mr. Collins firmly believes this place is haunted and in the interests of history and for science, he wants to get to the bottom of what tragically took his wife’s life.”

           

“Oh right,” Dean smirked. “Because if someone was interested in science, they’d contact Elvira.”

            “I’m sorry, Mr. Whatever your name is,” her dark eyes rolled beneath their false lashes. “It must be hard for you to understand the workings of the other side.”

            Before he could continue his little fight, Sam interrupted, “Why exactly would Mr. Collins believe his home was haunted? Did he report any sightings or experiences?”

            Elvira-or whatever her name was dragged her eyes over to Sam where they seemingly feasted upon him. Dean felt like he was about to lose his lunch. “You have such a strong aura,” she cooed. “I can sense a deep connection with the paranormal with you.”             “You have no idea lady,” Dean couldn’t help himself.

            “Thank you,” Sam smiled.

            “But yes, he did report seeing what he believed was an apparition of Agatha Longfellow.”

            “Where did he see her ghost?”             “In different places of the house but mostly upstairs just in front of the balcony, as you can imagine. He said he often saw her crying and could hear her crying in the middle of the night. That’s why he started sleeping downstairs.”

            “And did his wife believe?”

            “Regrettably, If Anne had seen anything she never told her husband about her experiences.” She dragged out the final word as if to fill it with all its potential euphemism. The creepy ones always like Sam, Dean realized. “Who exactly do you guys work for again?”

            “The FBI,” Dean nearly barked.

            “Right. And why are the FBI interested in a haunting?”

            “Because people are dying,” Sam answered with his usual sympathy. “Do you mind if my partner and I take a look upstairs?”

            “Go right ahead,” She smiled, dragging a long blood red acrylic nail down the curve of one of her large breasts.

            Going up the large mahogany staircase, they almost ran into a pair of teenage girls examining a picture on their phone. “I swear to fucking god, there is a ghost in this photo!” It was the same girls who were taking pictures outside.

            “WHAT?” The other girl leaned forward to examine. “OH MY GOD…” She looked like she was about to cry she was so scared.

            “Hey, can I see that?” Sam asked. The photo looked like your typical selfie. However, behind the two smiling girls, a long blurry white shadow lurked just in the space between them and the balcony. Sam gave Dean a knowing look as he thanked them and let them continue on their way.

            “If this place is really haunted, we can’t have all these people just walking around,” Dean complained. They were everywhere. Even more so than they had anticipated. Just as Sam was about to pull out his EVP machine, he heard the familiar buzzing coming off of a newer, shinier model in whose hand an amateur ghost enthusiast swept across the balcony door frame.

            “Well, I guess that’s all the proof we need,” Sam sighed.

            “Hey,” Dean laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “At least this will be an easy one.”

 

***

Why must the motel always smell like piss? Perpetually piss? At one point in his life, Dean had gotten used to the stench, took its vaguely acidic, always unnerving undertone as one of the scent notes of life. But after moving to the bunker, its acrid aroma was somehow revived. Just one day, he fantasized they would book a semi-decent room, in a semi-decent hotel. He’d steal all the soap samples and even the toilet paper out of revenge.

            He was in a sour mood but it was one of his rare opportunities to be alone. Sam had gone off to search for Agatha Longfellow’s grave records at the local library and Dean had stolen back to the motel under the pretense that he was going to do ‘research’ on his laptop. Sam figured correctly that Dean was going to make another attempt at calling his angel.

            Standing in the middle of the room, he lifted up his hands, palms upright, eyes closed. “Cas, buddy, come down here please.” Minutes passed and Dean was standing there alone like a fool breathing in the urine-miasmic air.

            Fuck it, he said to himself. Desperate times call for desperate measures. He kneeled down on the floor next to the bed, tucked his elbows in, clasped his hands together and shut his eyes. “Castiel, oh holy Angel of Thursdays though it be Friday, Please answer my prayers…” Still silence. Perhaps the humor wasn’t going to work this time. From deep within him, Dean sighed. “Come on Cas.” Feeling as if no matter what he said, no one was listening, he said just above a whisper. “I miss you, man.”

            “Dean.”

            His heart started with a flutter and he jumped to his feet. Behind him, Cas stood there wearing his trenchcoat and the same blue tie from the last night they saw one another. His face expressionless hid what Dean suspected was a silent fury.

            “Cas, thank god,” Dean was truly relieved.

            “Where is Sam?”

            “Researching something-”

            “Do you need my assistance?” Cold and distant, Cas stood there watching him as if a friendship had never existed between them.

            “Cas, no. I just wanted to talk to you about the other night.”

            “There’s nothing to talk about, Dean.”            

            “Look, I’m sorry I acted like such a jerk. You and Jason didn’t deserve to be treated like that. I don’t know why I was so aggressive.” Cas didn’t say anything. “I guess...when I saw him...I realized that you were serious…” Was he lying? Dean was talking off the cuff, letting the words come out of him but he was keenly aware that something wasn’t right. “I guess I got worried that you would find someone that meant more to you than Sam and I.” _Meant more to you than me._ “Sometimes, I have a problem controlling my anger and that’s all on me. You did nothing wrong.”

            Cas took a deep sigh. The cold glare melted away and he watched Dean’s face with that same sweet look he was used to. “Dean,” he merely said.

            “I don’t know… I guess now that I think about it, I got used to people putting things before me, you know? Dad putting the hunt before me. Sam putting school. But you always put me first and I thank you for that brother and I’m sorry, I was so selfish. As your friend, I should put your happiness first, Cas. And that’s what matters most to me.”

            “Dean. Why would you think I would ever put anything before you?” Cas seemed genuinely confused. His face tilted to the side, baffled like an innocent animal. “I have given everything for you, my grace, heaven, my life. You don’t ever have to worry, Dean.”

            “Yeah but… I mean, as your best friend, I can’t really compete with your lover right?” Dean tried to laugh it off but he was aware of how sad his pathetic laugh was. Oh god, Dean, pull it together.

            Cas looked down as he considered what he had just said. “Dean. I remember watching the first sunrise and the first snowfall. I’ve seen supernovas and watched the intricacies of a single cell in all its wonder. I’ve seen Heaven, Hell…Purgatory. And of all the things in creation, you’ve always been my favorite.” Dean felt his breath escape him as if a gust blew through his body and stole it. Cas has said all this in his matter-of-fact way. It ought to have been obvious to Dean and maybe it was. Cas had put himself on the line to save Dean and lost time and time again but why did it feel so different when he said it like that?

            A part of Dean rebelled against the sentiment. He had to suppress the urge to crack a joke and push Cas away but he realized that after his behavior, Cas deserved to be heard and he, hurting Cas when he had exposed himself, deserved to witness his vulnerability even if it made Dean sharply aware of his own. “Thank you?” He tried to smile despite the fact that he couldn’t breathe.

            “Can I ask you a question, Dean?”

            “Sure,” he walked to the cooler and pulled out a beer. He felt relieved the way one might feel when they realized that they missed by mere inches a stroke of death.

            “Why would Jason being a man make it serious? It could easily have been serious if it was a woman.” Cas was sincerely perplexed by this.

            “Honestly,” Dean took a swig from his beer. The relief gave way to a giddy recklessness. “Because I don’t feel the need to compare myself to a woman.” That didn’t help. Cas still looked utterly confused and even though what Dean said was the truth, he himself didn’t quite understand it.

            The look on Cas’ face hadn’t changed. For several moments, the two stared at each other. Dean’s own words hardly made sense to him when he had said them but as time passed in silence, it began to dawn on him. Perhaps, he shouldn’t have said anything at all.

            “Dean-”

            Before he could continue, the door mercilessly opened. “Oh, Cas. Hey,” Sam looked nervously back and forth between them. “How are you?”

            “I’m okay, Sam. How are you?”

            “Great. Um, how’s Jason?”

            “Jason is...displeased with me.”

            Sam entered the room and shut the door behind him. “Displeased with you?”

            “After the fight, Jason and I argued over Dean’s behavior. He was under the impression that I was making excuses for Dean.”

            Dean could feel his younger brother’s eyes on the side of his face. “We worked it out, right Cas?”

            “Yes.”

            Rather sadistically, Sam inquired, “What sort of excuses were you making for him?”

            “Doesn’t matter. Dean apologized and I accepted his apology.”

            “Well, in terms of the case, I found Agatha’s gravesite,” Sam reported, changing the subject.

            “Great. Let’s get digging. Wanna come and help, Cas? We could always use an extra pair of hands.” Strangely enough, he wasn’t ready for Cas to go.

            “No. I shouldn’t. Besides, I think I should go and fix things with Jason-”

            Before Dean could say anything, Cas had disappeared into the ether, somewhere a thousand miles away. He felt a queasiness lurking in his stomach. Maybe if Sam had taken longer at the library, Dean would have said more, maybe he would have admitted not only to Cas but to himself the true reason why the situation had made him so upset. He realized it now in Cas’ absence. The physical intimacy that Jason and him had undoubtedly shared was the kind of which Dean had secretly longed for but wasn’t strong enough to admit. It was his deepest secret.

            But there was something more to it. Cas who had been so close to him, Cas who had stood so close to him, close enough to share the same breath must have known about this shameful secret. About his longing, the dirty thoughts that stole into his mind when he saw a handsome man stroll pass or when Cas himself looked up at him with his pure gaze and his chapped lips parted and exposed. _And willing_. And Dean wondering just for a second what it would be like to take the plunge. But just as soon as the thought occurred to him, he had pushed it away, suffocated it inside of himself but he could never quite kill it.

            Did he know? He must have known. That’s why Cas had never said anything to begin with. He knew it was mingled in with all the other horrible things that brought Dean shame. He never spoke of it because Cas knew that it would bring Dean pain.

            He couldn’t get his words out of his head. They echoed in a swirl of helium like, weightless blissfulness. Cas never embellished-never said more than what he meant. And yet, what he had said was so profound and abstract that it hardly seemed real but it was because of the very density and propensity of his simple statement that made the truth of it so immense.

Dean couldn’t shake it…

_Of all things in creation._

           

_Sam_

At this point, the smell of dirt got his blood going. Sam didn’t particularly enjoy digging up graves. It was tedious and difficult work. They had to wait until the small hours of the night just to be sure they wouldn’t be found but at this point in their lives, this was so routine and so straightforward that it was one of the easiest aspects about the job.

            Dean chatted continuously on the drive there. He must have drunk a pot of coffee he was so amped up. And he talked about the most ridiculous things. Without a doubt, Sam was suspicious of his brother’s giddy behavior. He used to be perkier when they were kids but now late in his 30s, Dean had lost some of his spunk and became instead generally mistrustful and cynical. But tonight it was different.

At first he went into great lengths talking about old television shows like _Bonanza_ , trying to assign each of the characters to people he knew. And then he sang along to every track on Led Zeppelin IV. And at 1 in the morning, it was more than Sam could bear but Dean was rarely in high spirits and so, he just let his brother enjoy himself.

Two hours in and 5 feet deep, Dean seemed to finally get down to the matter with Cas. “Do you think he’s better looking than me?” He randomly asked.

“Who? Jason?” Sam acted surprised although he really wasn’t.

            “Yeah. Be honest with me.”

Cruelly, Sam mumbled “Well, he is younger than you…”

            “Not that much younger!”

            “Like a decade or two…”

“I’m being serious here, Sammy!” Dean had stopped what he was doing to glower at his little brother. It was so dark that he couldn’t quite see his face but he knew that he wasn’t lying, he was perfectly serious.

“We’re related. I don’t know if I’m the one you should ask besides, I don’t see why that matters. You don’t see me caring if Jason is better looking than me.”

“Well, it’s different.”

“Why, Dean? Because I obviously am?” Sam stopped shoveling and stood facing his brother. If they didn’t finish this conversation, they wouldn’t be able to dig up this grave. Messing with him would only make this longer. “You know Cas doesn’t care about that stuff anyway.”

“He obviously does because the fucking dude is gorgeous. It’s sorta bullshit. And on top of that he’s a goddamn firefighter. He’s a freaking hero.” Dean was getting way too animated over this.

“Did it ever occur to you Dean, that that’s what you are too?”

“Well...gorgeous...yes but I’m not really a hero. I’m just a normal guy who has been thrust into a tornado full of shit his whole life.”

“Please, Dean,” Sammy went back to work. Maybe this was going to take longer than he thought. Apparently, there was a lot he needed to get off his chest. “You have to think from Cas’ prospective.”

            “What are you trying to say?”

Sam took a deep sigh. He wasn’t sure how his brother was going to take what he was about to tell him. “When we were at dinner, Cas brought up all the ways in which you two are similar. What I’m trying to say is maybe that why Cas likes him, because he reminds him of you.”

For some reason, he could sense Dean release some of his previous tension. In fact, he seemed even happier than before. “Oh,” he merely said and continued shoveling.

            “Wait. You’re okay with that?”

“I mean it makes sense. The little winged nerd always was a bit obsessed with me,” he was smirking, evidently satisfied.

Finally, he heard the familiar smack of the shovel against the lid of the coffin. “Alright, here we go,” Sam said as he climbed out of the hole he dug.

_Dean_

Dean was too hyper to fall asleep once they got back to the motel. Whatever, Sam mumbled throwing himself on the bed. It was going on 3 in the morning and the bars were likely clearing out but Dean preferred a dead bar than lying in bed, tossing and turning and thinking. Luckily since they were in a big city for once, there were still a surprising amount of people in the joint and it was even nicer than the ones that were dotted here and there in random town America. But nevertheless, places like this were the same at their core everywhere. There was the hot bartender, the glowing neon El Sol signs, the beat up pool table, and the wonderful stench of liquor and cheap perfume in the air. Dean inhaled and took it all in.

“What will it be?” the bartender asked. She was about 5’5, brunette with large brown eyes wearing jean shorts and black tank top. Just his type. Her glossed up lips turned up at the ends wickedly and her eyes glistened at the sight of him. Dean was used to his effect on women.

“A beer,” he winked. She popped the top off and set it down in front of him.

“You can’t possibly be real,” she nearly growled. She rubbed her thighs together and leaned forward, exposing her small but firm breasts.

“I’m not. I’m a figment of your imagination.”

“My incubus.” And just then a couple of women called her down from the end of the bar. “Gotta work. But I’ll be here until 5.” She swayed her hips as she sashayed away.

Dean licked his lips. Today was a good day.

“I wonder how many STDs she’s had,” a voice said beside him. Dean turned to look to see a young man. He was watching the bartender walk away with a look superiority, the sort that naive kids like him have. “But I guess the question is, how many does she still have.”

“Hey. Don’t be a douche. Word from the wise, women don’t like sexist pricks.” Dean rolled his eyes and took a long gulp from the beer.

“Sorry,” The kid rocked on his stool. He was young enough to still have a poor posture. Young enough to be simultaneously smug and insecure. “Can’t help it. I’m jealous.” Dean looked at him properly now. He had a mass of black hair, tossed about as if to give the appearance of bed head. His eyes however, were large and brilliantly blue. Even in the dark bar, they seemed almost luminous. Dean felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of them. He didn’t realize that he even cared for such things. Usually, he liked the darker sort. Chocolate browns, so dark they were almost black. But for some reason-an obvious one, he realized, he had begun to harbor a soft spot for eyes of that particular shade. They were of course, the same color blue as Cas’s.

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“Isn’t it past yours, old man?”

“Aren’t you a little smart ass?” Dean was getting too damn old for this.

The kid licked his lips and took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he was about to say next. “I’m not jealous of you. I’m jealous of her.” Brave little shit.

Dean turned to face him. “How old are you?”

“22.”

            “ID?”

“You think I’m going to show my ID to some weird middle aged guy at a bar?” The kid was evidently excited by the whole exchange. Dean recognized adrenaline’s wide eyes.

“Be careful who you call weird, jailbait.” Dean raised his bottle to his mouth, his lips throwing a mischievous smile towards the boy.

The kid pressed his knees together and leaned forward. “You’re not leading me on, are you?”

“Leading you on?”

He bit his lips again, not breaking the bright blue gaze he had casted on Dean. “You are flirting back, right?”

“Are you really 22?”

“19. I’d show you my ID but it has my address on it.” He giggled, somewhat embarrassed, feeling in all likelihood as if he were begging.

“You mean your parents’ address?” The boy didn’t respond but finally looked away, unsure how to play the situation. Dean too was in unfamiliar territory. He couldn’t believe he was even considering. But the kid was cute. He was lean with a heart shaped face. Dean couldn’t lie either, the boy’s perceived lack of experience for some reason was appealing to him. That was the first. He usually was attracted to wild types, the kind that knew how to have fun, who knew what they were doing. But then again, he never let himself consider another man before-and then again, he realized everything about this kid that he wanted was what reminded him of Cas. “Have you even been with a man?”

The boy smiled, looking deliberately innocent, so innocent he was practically angelic, “Have you?”

“No. Nor have I been with a boy.”

“You act like I’m a child.”

“I’m almost 20 years older than you.” At that, the boy’s eyes widened. “Yup. I know. Like fine wine,” he winked and raised the beer bottle as if making a toast to his ever perfecting good looks.

“Yeah, you are really hot for an old guy.”

“Hey, watch it.” If he let himself go somewhere with this kid, it would be almost like giving in finally. And why shouldn’t he? If Cas could do it, why couldn’t he? But there was more to it than that. What he truly wanted wasn’t just any man. He wanted Cas. He wanted Cas to look up at him with his big blue eyes. It was Cas’ heart shaped face he wanted to cup in his hands. It was Cas whose innocence he wanted to glimpse. It was Cas’ discovery of which he wanted to be a part. Not this kid. It wasn’t right and he knew it. “Look,” he turned to face him. “You’re good looking and I think you know that. But I can’t in good conscience do anything with you. I hope you understand that. It’s just creepy, on my part.”

What he said seemed to hit home for the boy. “I get it,” he said. “I understand. But if we were closer in age, would you?” The kid was looking for validation. Perhaps, this was the first time he ventured out looking for something like this, some shred of intimacy, something that made him feel like himself. Looking at this boy, he could understand it. Saw something in him that not only reminded him of Cas but of himself.

Dean stared at him for several long moments. His mind now wandering to Cas, imagining images of intertwined limbs and wet, swollen lips. The sound of his name, _Dean, Dean, Dean_ in that deep, deep voice echoed from the familiarity of his memory. His longing was so great, he felt that his very body was caving underneath it.

“Well?” the boy’s voice broke through.

“Maybe,” he merely said and finished his beer. He threw a twenty on the bar, leaving a large tip for letting down the girl. “You need a ride home, kid?” he asked. The boy took a deep sigh, evidently disappointed and nodded. It was getting late. Dean was a real heartbreaker tonight he thought, wondering rather stupidly if broken things break everything around them.

_Sam_

The sun was edging over the horizon by the time his big brother finally made it back home. Sam ever since he was a child was a light sleeper, especially after an easy hunt, one that didn’t even require getting your head bashed in a couple times. Dean seemed oddly pensive as he shut the door softly behind him and placed the keys on the small round old dining table.

“Hey,” Sam greeted him. “It’s really late? Or should I say early?”

            “Yeah, couldn’t sleep.”

            “Did you snort some coke last night,” Sam laughed and moved to get out of bed. Maybe he should go for a run and pick up some breakfast.

            “I’m gonna take a cold shower,” Dean announced as he tiredly walked to the bathroom, ignoring his little brother’s attempt at good humor. His mood swings were unsettling to Sam.

            “Are you ok?”

            “Never been better,” he closed the door behind him.

Maybe he was just crashing, Sam wondered but he knew that there was likely something more to it. Something to do with Cas undoubtedly. Perhaps he should ask the angel to talk to him but then again, what more could be said? Dean was just going to have to come to terms with Jason-and with himself.

            From behind the old bathroom door, Dean called out to Sam.

            “What going on?” Sam swung it open to find his brother, water dripping down his face looking at something through the bathroom mirror-or rather someone. In the bathtub he saw the reflection of a woman, her gown laced and shapeless and her face pale and gaunt. Her hair long thick and curly tumbled down to her waist. She was staring at Dean with malevolence.

            Sam saw her too. Her exposed wrist bore unexpectedly a peculiar tattoo, shaped like a wreath, inside of which there was a triple knot in the shape of a rounded triangle. And just then, she was gone.

***

“That was definitely Agatha Longfellow,” Sam plugged in her name in _Search the Web_ and as soon as her image popped up, he swung the computer around to show Dean. Although the image was old and grainy and her long hair was done up, it was indeed the woman they saw in the bathroom.

“Where’s the tattoo?” Dean nearly chugged his coffee in one straight shot. He hadn’t slept last night that much was obvious and with the case now taking a mysterious turn, it didn’t look like he was going to get some anytime soon.

“Well think about it, Dean. What’s the likelihood of a 19th century woman of high society getting a crazy tat?” Sam rubbed his face. It did look like symbols he had seen before but nothing exactly like it.

“So what are you trying to say? Someone put the tattoo on her?”

“Well, we did burn her bones last night and now she just appeared to you. So either there’s a part of her left somewhere or it has something to do with that tattoo…” Sam searched his brain for any similar cases in the past.

“Like the Mark of the Witness?” Dean poured another cup.

Yeah, like the Mark of the Witness. Dean was on to something. “I think you’re right,” Sam mused.

“It looked a bit like a weird version of John Paul Jones’ symbol…Man I need some aspirin.”

“The Zoso one? On Led Zeppelin IV?”

“Oh look Sammy. I’ve taught you well.” Dean got up and began digging in Sam’s things. He pulled out a bottle of pills, read the label, made a weird face and took twice the dosage.

“That symbol is celtic right?”

“Yeah, they all come from some weird book on symbolic meanings. There’s a bitchload of them…”

Sam started searching terms online and within minutes he came up with several hits. “So it says here that the wreath like circle represents love and is a common symbol found on wedding rings and the thing in the middle, the one that looks like the Led Zeppelin symbol is the eternity knot.”

“Wow, so romantic,” Dean said flatly. “Still doesn’t make sense why someone would put that on Agatha’s wrist.”

“Maybe it does,” Sam tapped his fingers on table. The pattern of the suicides was very clear. “All the victims were married.”

“And?”

“All the victims had depressed spouses.”

“So you’re saying that Agatha ganks people that are in love.”

“Yeah,” Sam pulled out the case file from the other day. “Anne Collins’ husband was known to have major depression. Agatha’s husband though was the one who killed himself if you remember from the story…” It still didn’t quite make sense. Why would Agatha cause Anne to kill herself? “There’s something we’re missing.”

“Well. I guess if anyone is going to know the lowdown on the Longfellow story it’ll be your girlfriend, Elvira.” Another cup down. Dean stared at the bottom of it, looking equally as depleted.

“We’ll stop at a Starbucks and get you a triple espresso,” Sam said getting to his feet and grabbing his jacket.

“What the hell? Do I look like pumpkin spice type?”

“No, you look like the ‘I just got his by a bus’ type.”

Dean tossed Sam the keys to the impala. He was too exhausted to drive. “Touche’”

_Dean_

 

Elvira or whatever her name was wore a crimson dress, tight and generous around the breasts. Dean couldn’t particularly stand her but he couldn’t keep his eyes from travelling down and watching them rock like two thick balloons filled with jelly whenever she moved. She seemed aware of it but she didn’t particularly care for Dean’s attention. Her eyes always rested on Sam.

            “You asked if Anne ever saw any ghosts and well, I found out rather recently that she had.” They were sitting in the kitchen. This place is creepy as shit, Dean thought to himself. There were far less people here today despite it being the weekend. The ‘for sale’ sign outside might have something to do with it. And then there was also a strange feeling that overcame Dean. The place felt _different_. Gloomier.

            “How did you find out, if you don’t mind me asking?” Sam inquired with all his pleasantries. Dean was just happy that he could butter the weird witch up.

            “Well, I read it.” Her red lips smiled evilly.

            Sam gave her his best little baroo face. “You read it?”

            “Yes, in her diary.” She picked up a notebook off of the kitchen counter. It was one of those kinds you get from the drug store with the large ring binding and the inspirational quotes on the cover.

Dean was offended for Anne. “Isn’t that a little invasive?” He could feel Sam giving him a look. Yes, Dean had read through people’s diaries before but that was because they were on a case. This woman was just a creep.

“And, what exactly did she say?” Sam asked.

“Just that she saw the ghost of a woman who she believed to be Agatha Longfellow. It didn’t bother her much though. She was smitten with this beautiful, beautiful house,” she lifted her arms up as if she were worshipping the place. Yeah, weirdo alright. “That and she wrote a lot about James and how much she loved him...and how much she felt guilty about the pain she believed she caused him.”

            “So you’re saying that Anne felt that she was the cause for her husband’s depression?”

            “That’s what it seems like.”

            “You’re friends with James, right?” Dean narrowed his eyes at her.

“I’m a historian. I study the occult in San Francisco as well as other areas notable during the big gold rush,” She wasn’t at all put off by Dean’s obvious distaste. “You may think I’m a freak,” she put a great deal of emphasis on the word. “But I know a lot about these things and it may shock you but it’s made me rather rich.”

“I’m not shocked,” Dean gave her one of his righteous glares. “I bet you’re gonna buy this mansion and give little ghost tours?”

“So, James knew you because of the Longfellow haunting then?” Sam got back to the point.

“Yes. He was curious about Agatha Longfellow’s life and about the alleged sightings. Like I said, he believed that he had seen her ghost.”

“Did he mention a tattoo?”

Elvira smiled, impressed with Sam. “He didn’t say anything to me about it but I’ve heard others describe a tattoo on the apparition’s wrist.”

“It’s a little strange, don’t you think? A woman like Agatha Longfellow with a tattoo?”

“Not particularly,” Elvira opened the diary and leafed through it. “You have to remember at the time people were very into the other side if you will. It was the era of Spiritualism. What a time to be alive!” She landed on a page, smiled, and twirled it around. Drawn in pencil was the symbol, the wreath and the eternity knot. “It’s Celtic.”

“Is this some form of magic?” Sam asked.

Elvira sighed. “I’ve looked into it myself but I honestly couldn’t find much about it. I think it is some form of Gaelic magic. That is, of course it you believe it.”

***

She watched them as they walked down the long pathway back to the impala. “We got to find out more about this symbol.” Sam opened the door to the passenger’s seat. Although they wanted to scout the place again, it was impossible with her there.

            “I don’t know man. There’s just something not right,” Dean turned to give the mansion one last look. It was really beautiful. There was something so mysterious about it nestled in between dense thickets of trees, with its painted trim. And just then, as he was staring up at it he saw her there, standing in the 2nd floor window, staring right at him. “Sam. There she is.”

Sam followed his gaze. “I don’t see her, Dean.”

“You don’t?” She looked the same as she had in the bathroom back at the motel. Her eyes even from this great distance were immovable, as if with them she intended to burn a hole right through him.

Once they were on the road, Sam after moments of deep thought finally spoke, “Usually ghosts stick to one location. They don’t move around…”

“The one that went after Bela did.”

“You mean...unless it’s a curse,” Sam turned and stared at his brother. “She was showing herself to you.”

“What? You think I’m cursed?” Dean was sick of this shit. Why was he always being singled out? Couldn’t he be haunted _after_ a full night’s rest?

“Well, like the ghost that was after Bela, they all fit a single pattern, they all had something in common. It was after people who had killed their family.”

“What are you trying to say, Sam?”

“Agatha goes after people who feel guilty about hurting their spouses. That’s the pattern. That’s why Anne died because she felt guilty about hurting James.”

Dean sighed. Why couldn’t this one be easy? Why did it have to get all personal and _weird._ “So I’m guilty?”

Sam paused for a second and almost laughed as he came to a realization. “Yeah, you are.”

“Why isn’t she after you? Are you so at peace with all the shit you’ve done? I mean I don’t know of any hunters that don’t have some type of guilt. Like we said earlier, just look at the Mark of the Witness. Look how many hunters that one did in.”

“This is different Dean,” Sam shook his head and tried to suppress a grin. “I feel guilt about a lot of things sure, but the key thing is...I’m not in love with anyone.”

“What? I’m not in love? I haven’t thought about Lisa in years!” But it was all for show, wasn’t it? Dean sensed the truth. He sensed what hid at the bottom of that Pandora’s box. _Was he really in love?_

Sam scoffed. “Wow. I mean, I knew that he was in love with you. That was obvious. Everyone could see it. But I didn’t know-”

“Shut your fucking face,” Dean gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles turned red. “I mean it.” He needed to change the subject. “Okay. So I’m a target. If we don’t fix this, then what?”

Things suddenly got serious. After several moments of silence. Sam said “Then you’re gonna kill yourself.”

 

_Sam_

“I think I am going to kill myself,” Dean said just before his head hit the middle of the book he had been staring at blankly. It was around 11 at night and they been researching this goddamn symbol for hours. Sam has flipped through every freakin’ book on the Longfellow haunting and everything he could find about Celtic witchcraft. But they could find nothing that related to this.

            “I think I have an idea and you’re not going to like it,” Sam announced. His brother generally played by the rules but at this point, he knew that they were desperate. When Dean went on a beer run, he told Sam he nearly swerved off the road because he saw through the rearview mirror, Agatha sitting in the back seat. She wasn’t going to let up.

            “I just do it myself?” He hadn’t bothered to lift up his head.

            “We ask an expert in Celtic witchcraft.”

            “Oh wow, I guess I’ll just find one on Yelp.”

            Sam rolled his eyes. “Rowena.”

            Dean’s head finally popped back up. “Right. And that’s not going to come with a price?”

            “Well, it’s the only idea I’ve got. So I think before this goes all Romeo and Juliet we ought to give it a shot?” There probably was a price but Sam had a headache and he was feeling reckless.

            “Do you have her number?”

            Sam pulled out his phone and gave her a ring. Disconnected. “I did.” He let the phone fall to his lap.

            “You think you’re tired? I’m 10 minutes away from driving up to the university and robbing some co-ed for their Adderall.”

            “Well, if we can’t find her. There’s might be someone who can,” Sam was too damn exhausted. He might throw a book at Dean’s face if he tried to argue with him.

            “Fine. Call him,” he merely said, dragging himself to his feet. “I’m gonna make another pot of coffee.” He lifted up the bag and almost cried when he realized there was nothing left in it. “Tell him to bring some more coffee.”

            Sam texted Cas. For some reason, in his experience, he was more likely to answer a text message than a prayer from him. “Dean is in danger. Bring coffee and Rowena” it read.

            And within minutes, he was standing there with a bag of Folgers in one hand and a very angry red head in the other.

            “I really need to learn the angel warding you lads put up!” She blew a lock of curly hair from her face with an angry huff.

            Dean went straight for the coffee. “You really are sent from god,” he said taking it from Cas’ hands, avoiding rather obviously looking him in the face.

            “I brought the witch as well,” he stated, evidently confused. “Dean doesn’t appear to be in danger. In need of sleep, yes but-”

            “Unhand me,” Rowena shook the angel off of her. “What is the meaning of this? I was in the middle of bewitching a very charming cabana boy, so this better be good.”

            “We just need your advice and then Cas can zap you back,” Sam explained.

            “You sleep here?” Rowena looked at the motel with a disgusted scowl. “I think I’m going to catch something that not even my spells can cure me of.”

            “Are you really in danger, Dean?” Cas asked.

            “Um...yeah…” He finally turned around and looked at him but he didn’t look at him long. He let his eyes fall to the dirty floor with its suspicious stains.

            “Well, I don’t particularly care for you lads so you better make this quick,” Rowena picked up the blanket on Sam’s bed with a pinch of her fingers and examined. Coming to the conclusion that it was clean enough, she flattened it out and took a seat.

            “The case we’re working on uses what we believe to be Celtic witchcraft,” Sam elaborated.

            “Why should I help you?” She was sitting pretty. Her manicured hands folded on her knees. She wore a glittery gown of forest green. With her hair and makeup, she looked utterly out of place in this rundown hotel.

            “Because we have an angel,” Dean answered. “Who can hurt you.”

            “And it won’t take long. We just want information,” Sam handed her a drawing he made of the symbol. Rowena stared at it, her mouth slowly developing into a smile.

            “This is old magic and rare. Why would you need it in a place like San Francisco? Practitioners of this sort of magic exist merely in Scotland and Ireland and I haven’t seen it in decades, centuries maybe.”

            “We think that it may have something to do with a practitioner of Spiritualism. Does that ring a bell?”

            “Poor me a cup of tea, will you my bonny lad?” Even if she wasn’t getting anything out of this exchange, it seemed enough to please her that her knowledge and expertise were valued. Sam could care less about her ego, or his for that matter. He gave her instead some of the coffee Dean had just made and told her that was the best he could do. “Well, if this symbol was known by some spiritualist I would gather that a ghost must have told them.”

            “Is it a curse?” Dean asked.

            “It’s not meant to be,” she handed Sam back the drawing. “But if someone tries to use such powerful magic and they lack the experience, it could backfire.”

            “Meaning?” Sam was getting impatient with her coy manner.

            “Can I least have some milk and sugar. You don’t expect me to drink this black?” She smiled and lifted up the cup. “I may be a heathen but I do have standards.” Sam rolled his eyes and took it from her.

            “Did you try this magic, Dean?” Cas was watching him from across the room. Dean on the other hand, wanted to stand as far away as possible.

            “No. But the person who did is out to kill me now.”

            “Interesting,” Rowena let a little giggle.

            “So what is it?” Sam handed her the cup of coffee, much sweeter and paler than it was before.

            “It’s a spell that leaves a mark that would be like a tattoo on whoever casts it. It’s to summon the spirit of the one they love, to bring them back.” She took a delicate sip from the coffee, leaving a smudge of lipstick on the tip.

            “Agatha must have tried summoning her husband’s ghost after he died,” Sam said, turning to his brother.

            “And what happens if it goes wrong?” Dean inquired.

            “It could ground one’s soul and well, if one’s spirit is angry enough, tethered to the bleak existence of afterlife, the love that went into this spell...let’s just say… this kind of love is meant to be not only a gift but also a curse. It goes both ways,” she had ceased to speak to Sam and instead stared at Dean.

            “So this woman’s ghost is after you?” Cas watched Dean, confused and concerned.

            Rowena feigned a pout and mocked, “It seems our little poppet is in love.”

            Ignoring her, Dean pressed on, “So how do we get rid of it?”

            “True love’s kiss?” Rowena suggested but she couldn’t keep a straight face for long before succumbing to peals of laughter. Dean looked like he wanted to skin her alive.

            “That can’t be it. Some of the other victims were married and I’m assuming they kissed a lot.” She was getting on Sam’s nerves.

            “Honestly, I have no idea,” Rowena admitted. “I’ve never had a use for such...sappy magic.” She placed the cup on the end table and rose to her feet. “If I knew, I would tell you just to spite whichever ridiculous witch came up with such a spell but alas, there are still things for me to discover.” Although she knew that Dean was smitten, she had no idea who it was. The thought suddenly donned on her and she turned to him and asked, “Who is it?”

            Dean didn’t answer right away. Sam stole a glance at Cas who watched Dean with a look that suggested that he had no idea either.

            Finally, Dean said, “Doesn’t matter. Take her home, Cas.”

_Cas_

Rowena’s hotel room was on the 60th floor. It overlooked dazzling clear blue waters and her bed, littered with countless pillows was as big as Sam and Dean’s motel room. She sauntered over to the bar and popped open a bottle of champagne worth over 5 grand not for any celebratory reason, just because she could. “Wait,” she said before Cas could disappear. He narrowed his eyes and stood there in silence. “Just out of curiosity, not because I may need it in the future to get back of the WIN-CHEST-ERS,” she said their name with such spite that Cas already regretted staying there for longer than was utterly necessary. “But who could be this bonny young lass that has captured our great hero’s heart?” She poured the champagne into two cups and made her way to the angel.

            “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you.” For some reason, he took the glass from her although, he had no intention of drinking it.

            “I can tell you’re not lying, Castiel,” She took a sip and ran her hand through her long red hair. “But I thought we could muse on who it could possibly be.”

            “Why do you care if you have no intention of hurting Dean?”

            “It always goes back to that with you, doesn’t it?” When Cas said nothing she continued, “Covens of witches don’t just swap spells, we’ve always been known to swap some juicy gossip here and there. You can’t fault a girl for being curious. It’s not every day a Winchester’s heart is plucked.”

            “Dean has never shared that part of his life with me,” the angel reported, gazing down at the bubbles escaping into the air. Maybe he should take a drink.

            “From what I gather, he only cares about three wee things. One, his heroic delusions. Two, his giant of a brother, and three, his broken little angel.”

            “Apparently, there’s a fourth,” Cas finished the champagne in one gulp. He hadn’t drunk alcohol since the apocalypse.

Rowena picked up the bottle of champagne and poured Cas another, this time filling it up to the brim. “I may not know that awful magic they showed me today but, I do know how to find out the object of one’s affections. All I would need is something of Dean’s.”

Cas was no fool. He knew that this information would be valuable to Rowena as some form of leverage but he was tempted by her offer. Who could it be? He wondered with a sharp pain in his chest. He was used to the feeling but it felt raw again, as if someone picked off the scab. Dean had always been a source of agony for Cas. He bled for him, died for him, and yet, he always managed to let him down. Who could have achieved what Cas with everything he sacrificed could not? He knew the right thing to do would be to just ask but he knew too that Dean would likely not tell him. But then again, it was better not knowing than accepting Rowena’s offer. “I can’t.”

            “Can’t?”

            “Won’t.” He defiantly looked up at her. “This is none of your business, Rowena.”

            “Perhaps not,” She finished her champagne and tossed the glass behind her. It broke into a dozen little pieces without the slightest response from her. She truly lived a decadent and charmed life. “I may need a spell to find out who Dean loves but everyone knows who poor pining pathetic Castiel is in love with. Honestly, Cas, it’s sad,” She grabbed his glass from him and took a drink. “I would suggest a spell that could remove that longing from your heart but if heaven couldn’t get between you and your love for Dean Winchester, I don’t think I can.”

            Cas almost wished that there was a spell. He might actually go through with it.

_Dean_

Dean knew he was dreaming. It was storming and he found himself, barefoot walking up the smooth mahogany staircase. The smell of the rain mingling in the warm air of a summer evening. The house was quiet except for when it shook. It rattled and rattled and yet where he stood was like being in the eye of a hurricane. He was so still.

            Just above the landing, he saw Agatha standing there in her white evening gone and the French doors of the balcony thrown open and the wind of the thunderstorm blowing her hair about her. She lifted up her hand towards him, the wreath of love, the knot of eternity binding her here forever. Dean realized that Agatha was stuck and that the man she loved had died so many years ago and his soul existed now in some corner of heaven, far, far away from her. Or maybe it was hell. Agatha had read her bible. Those who kill themselves are meant to go to hell, aren’t they?

            “Or maybe they go everywhere?” He heard himself say.

_But not heaven_.

            He thought of Cas then. Cas destroying heaven, burning down everything he knew, a stranger in his home, alienated from his own kind-neither human nor angel but something in between the way a ghost exists in between life and death. Stuck there. Unsure. In pain.

_You asked him to betray heaven for you and for what? And when he finds some ounce of happiness, you feel the need to take it away from him? How typical of you Dean. You needy son of a bitch. You could never go it alone._

            Agatha turned and walked towards the balcony. He felt the urge to follow her. He _needed_ to follow her. Somehow beyond those doors was liberation. Punishment. Atonement.

_Everyone you love, you make suffer_.

            _Sam_

The storm woke Sam with a start. The thunder crashed just above his head. Somehow he had passed out trying to find a way to remove the curse. Frantically, he searched the motel room for Dean but he couldn’t be found. His car keys were still there, even his shoes.

            Shit, Sam realized in a state of panic. All the victims had something else in common. They all jumped from the 2nd floor balcony.

            He snatched the keys to the impala and rushed out the door.

_Dean_

The rain felt good on his face and the air here was somehow more refreshing. Agatha was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she had jumped too. Maybe she is down there, Dean wondered.

            The feeling of guilt rose up in him, igniting not only his guilt over Cas but everything else he had buried deep within and was somehow encapsulated by his failure to truly love those he cared about. At the end of the day, he was nothing but selfish. Sam was better off without him. God knows Cas was.

            If only he could see him one last time. If only he tell him how he truly felt. That he was sorry. That he loved him too. “Cas,” he whispered into the storm. How useless. He wasn’t listening.

            Dean lifted leg and crawled up on the banister.

            Better to end the pain now.

 

***

Sam couldn’t believe his eyes. He rushed all the way to the Longfellow mansion, the door already wide open, he ran to the top to find his brother standing on the ledge. Between him and the doors to the balcony stood the ghost of Agatha Longfellow. “Dean!” he called out but his brother made no indication that he could hear him.

            As he ran towards him, Agatha with a swift motion of her hand threw Sam into a wall and held him there. He writhed and writhed but he couldn’t move. “Dean!” he screamed out but he could not hear a thing. Sam panicked. He needed to do something. He needed to save his brother.

            And just then, as he was glaring at the spirit of Agatha Longfellow, he saw the hurt in her face. The haunted sad look in her deep brown eyes. She had never meant to become this. She had never meant for her love to become a curse. This close to her, he could see a lingering pain in her eyes borne from decades of regret and sadness.

            “I’m sorry,” he heard Dean say somewhere into the wind.

            And that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Guilt. It wasn’t Agatha who killed them. It was their own guilt.

            “Agatha,” Sam called out to her. Instead of pleading with her to stop this, Sam instead ceased to fight her power. He let his body go limp. “Agatha, you have to know, it isn’t your fault.” The spirit turned and watched Sam’s face. “Whatever he was going through. It isn’t your fault. He knew you loved him.” He felt the pressure that had pinned him against the wall dissipating. Agatha had turned to face him now. “You have to realize that there is no reason to feel guilty. Your love was enough.”

            “Then why did he do it?” She said, her voice hollow-and heartbroken.

            “He needed to find a reason to live for himself. It wasn’t your love he needed but his own. You need to let go, Agatha. You need to let go of your guilt and wherever he is, you will find him.”             She looked away. The thunder above them ceased and the room became quiet. And just as suddenly as she was there, she was gone.

            Sam didn’t hesitate. He ran towards the balcony where Dean had been standing as if in a daze.

            “Sammy,” his big brother said, waking from his dream. He didn’t realize though that he was on a ledge. He turned to face him.

And slipped.

            Sam rushed to catch him. But it was too late. His hands grasped at empty air. In his confusion, he heard what sounded like the flutter of wings. He looked down expecting to see his brother’s skull smashed against the stone pavement but instead, he was cradled in Cas’ arms. He had caught him just in time.

            Looking down at Dean, the angel in his innocence merely said, “You called?”

 

_Dean_

He was wet and cold and barely clothed. The night in this part of town was mercilessly dark and the storm that had suddenly abated leaving in its wake, a peculiar damp sheen. It was like something out of a horror movie. But then again, his life was like something out of a horror movie.

            Except, there was Cas looking down at him with his brow furrowed in confusion. Beneath him, Dean could feel the empty space between him and the ground. He could also feel Cas’ firm, strong hands cradling him securely. As soon as the realization hit that he was being held, Dean shook like a fish out of water. Cas must have been expecting it because he lowered his left arm making it easier for Dean to get safely to his feet.

            “What the hell?!” was all he could muster.

            “Thank god you’re here, Cas!” Sam called from above. Both looked up to see him, his long hair in his face, smiling with what was obviously relief. What happened? Dean wracked his brain. The dream...it was fading now but there was a remnant...a woman’s voice...or was it his? After the shock subsided, Dean felt the dull ache of dread, the sort that usually accompanies guilt. He was used to the feeling but for some reason it seemed sharper, more cruel.

            He was at the Longfellow mansion though. That was sorta it’s MO? But why the hell was he here now? Without his fucking shoes on? What the freaking fuck. Ugh. He felt naked.

            Within minutes Sam had made his way downstairs. He quickly hugged Dean who bewilderedly attempted to reciprocate before hugging Cas with a force of a bulldozer. If he wasn’t an angel, he probably would have toppled over.

“What’s going on?” Dean barked. He wanted answers. “Where are my shoes?”

            Sam laughed the way someone might laugh at a small dog losing his shit. Was that what he was? A small dog losing their shit? “You were under the curse’s spell. You left the motel without them and walked all the way here.”

            “To jump off…” Dean looked up at the balcony looming above him.

            “Yeah, if Cas didn’t catch you, you’d probably would be dead.”

            The great Dean Winchester, done in like a Halloween pumpkin. Great.

            “That reminds me,” Sam turned to Castiel. “How did you know to come here?”

            “Dean called me,” he stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

            “I did? I don’t remember doing that.” All Dean was wearing was a t-shirt and his jeans. It must have taken him a couple hours to get to the mansion and he was soaked to the bone. Well, Agatha could still kill him via pneumonia…

            “Yes, you did,” Cas looked confused. “Do you want my coat, Dean?”

He stared back him blankly, if not a little bit angry. “I think it’s too small,” he spat back. Like he was going to do that, wear Cas’ coat like some teenaged girl on a date. Please.

Sam rubbed his face and laughed, somewhere in between amusement and surprise. “You probably called his name while stuck in your dream state, Dean.” Son. of. A. Bitch.

“Not funny,” he pointed at a threatening finger at him. “I’m cold. I’m mad. I’m tired and I’m getting a bit hungry. So, if you’re done being a pair of freaks, let’s get in the car, pick up some nachos from a gas n’ sip and let me change into some clean clothes, alright?”

The pair blinked at Dean. Oh great. He was little dog losing his shit, wasn’t he? If they didn’t get moving, he was gonna bite them. Literarily. Sensing his mood, Cas turned to Sam, “You can take him back to the motel,” he said. “I’ll get the nachos.”

_Sam_

After devouring his food with a perpetual expression of anger, Dean got in the shower, mumbling something about how once they got back to the bunker, he was going to take a long bubble bath. He was more frazzled than usual and Sam figured he knew why. Perhaps it was because his little brother knew his secret. Or perhaps it was because after Cas returned with the nachos, the burritos, and the warm apple pie, Sam asked him to stay awhile. The angel was reluctant but Sam gave him his best puppy eyes. He needed to talk to him before he disappeared to go do whatever it was he did.

To his surprise once Dean vanished behind the bathroom door, Cas began the conversation, “I don’t know why but everytime I see Dean lately he is angry at me. He either ignores me or is yelling at me. Even after I accepted his apology…” He had been sitting on the edge of Sam’s bed watching daytime television.

“Look Cas,” Sam sat across from him. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Not just about Dean but about…” How was he supposed to broach this subject? “The Longfellow Curse.”

Cas turned the television off and looked at Sam. He looked as if he hadn’t smiled for days. Cas has only been human briefly. He didn’t know how to pretend to be happy. Like a child, he expressed and experienced his emotions equally. However, examining him now, Sam wondered if that was completely true. Sadness had become so normal on Cas that to see him smile was a surprise and maybe, Sam suspected a form of work for Cas that just didn’t seem worth it. No one seemed to care if he smiled-or if he was happy.

“The curse has an aspect to it, Cas and um… I wanted to talk to you about it because it made me realize something about you.” He could tell that he angel had no idea what he was talking about. Sam took a deep breath. “I can tell that you’re hurting.” At that he dropped his eyes. He wasn’t going to argue. “I know that you’ve lost a lot and you never seemed to get things right. Hey, I know. Like you said, we’ve both continuously screwed up. And I know that you’re different, Cas. You’re not like the other angels and that’s why you helped us-why you still help us. And that’s what makes you special. What makes you good. And I just want you to know that if you ever need anyone to talk to or if you just need to know that someone cares, I’m here, Cas. I’m your friend.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Without looking up, Cas lunged forward and hugged him. After several awkward moments, he said, “Jason left me. He... he said that I was not committed to the relationship.”

“Because of Dean?”

Cas nodded. It wasn’t his place to say anything to him, Sam knew. He wanted to but he also understood it would be betraying his brother’s trust. “It wasn’t meant to be,” he said uselessly. “But um, I found about-or rather realized what you were going through because of the curse.”  


“I don’t understand what that means, Sam.”

“It affects people who feel like they are unable to help those that they care about who are...going through things.” Sam was frustrated with his inability to fully explain. “I guess what I’m trying to say Cas, is um...Like me, Dean knows about what you’re going through and he cares. A lot. And it’s eating at him but he also doesn’t know how to say how he feels...he…” Sam felt he shouldn’t go on. He didn’t want to say too much. “He expresses himself more through actions than words,” he finished.

            “Just one day,” Dean interrupted, entering the room, drying his hair off with a hand towel with an amused curl of his lip. “I’m gonna take a shower in one of those showers that have like four streams that come at you at a bunch of different directions. Man,” he moaned at the thought of it. He made his way to the dining table and picked up one of the burritos that Cas bit into and decided against. “You gonna finish this, buddy?” Before the angel could answer, he took a huge bite. “Snooze you lose,” he said through his munching.

            “Are you saying you want a small geyser shooting up your-” Sam couldn’t even finish the joke. Cas’ perplexed look somehow made it too funny to go on.

            “Hey!” Dean narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re gonna offend him.” He used the half eaten burrito to point at Cas.

            “Why would that offend me, Dean? I’ve never been at the end of a geyser or any other turbulent ejection of water before.”

            Dean smiled evilly and if not a bit creepy. “No, not water I’m sure.”

            Cas searched his brain for the hidden meaning. “I see…” he finally said.

            “What?” Sam didn’t typically like to amuse himself at the cost of Cas like Dean did however, the comedic potential was too great.

            Oh and it was worth it. “You’re making an allusion to male ejaculation. And in light of my former relationship with Jason, you are assuming that I have been at the end of one.” He narrowed his eyes somewhat angrily at Dean.

            But the less wise Winchester didn’t seem to get the point. “ _Former_?” Of course, Sam realized. Out of that whole exchange, he’d cling on to that. “ _Former relationship with Jason_?” Dean repeated.

            “Sadly, yes,” Cas replied. “Jason said I wasn’t committed.”

            Sam watched his brother’s face. It transformed into various shades of emotion, shock, joy, anger, sadness, confusion, settling on what looked like tenderness. Maybe Dean wasn’t so dim after all. “Oh shit...um...I think Jody is calling me,” Sam lied.

            “A case?” Dean turned to him as he made his way to the door.

            “No, um...she wanted my advice on wallpaper!” What a dumb excuse but the sour expression that flashed across Dean’s face proved that it would suffice. Sam softly shut the door behind him. Now what was he going to do? He still had the keys to the Impala in his jacket. Maybe he’d go see a movie at the Art house? Hopefully, Dean wouldn’t be needing his car.

_Dean_

“I think your brother was lying. Lately, you two have been acting strange,” Cas stood up as if to go. It was Sam who had asked him to stay so Dean figured with his little brother gone, maybe Cas saw that as a sign for him to go as well.

            “Um, Cas,” Dean heard himself say. Oh god, what are you going to do? Sam left for a reason, under a guise of what he knew now was a dumb lie. It wouldn’t have flown if Dean wasn’t already knocked off his feet by the news the Cas and Jason were no longer together.

            “Yes, Dean?”

            “I’m sorry about Jason. Not only me acting like a dick but about him acting like a dick. I know from personal experience how committed you are to those you care about, buddy.” But you’re not sorry he’s out of the picture, are you Dean?

            “That’s the problem,” Cas released a deep sigh from somewhere far inside of him. He was tired, wasn’t he? “Jason was right just like Metatron or Naomi. I am more committed to the Winchesters than I am to anything else even if that thing makes me happy, even when-”

            “I don’t,” Dean cut in. He knew what Cas was trying to say. It wasn’t the commitment to the Winchesters that brought so much trouble to Cas. Sam had never done anything to jeopardize Cas’ relationship with heaven or with his happiness for that matter. Sam had always respected Cas’ limits and Cas’ decisions especially when Dean in all his neediness could not. It was his commitment to Dean that cost Cas everything, including his joy. That’s why Dean stepped out on that balcony to begin with, wasn’t it?

            “Dean, it’s not that simple,” Cas protested.

            “Why not? I’m selfish and weak. I was angry with Sam for going off to school and leaving me behind. And I get angry every time you have something or someone in your life that isn’t me. I’m a leech, Cas,” he stared down bitterly at the burrito in his hand and tossed it into the garbage. He had lost his appetite.

            “Dean-”

            “It’s true and you know it. I wish I was stronger and didn’t-”

            “Dean, stop,” Cas almost shouted. “Everything I did for you, I did because I chose to. Those were all my choices. Even if you were the reason, they were still mine.”

            Silence. It came between them like a great wall composed of shame and vulnerability. Dean so desperately wanted to be strong but he was fighting against years and years of hiding behind feigned callousness and ambivalence, behind the man his father forced him to be, behind the ideal of a strength that feels nothing but anger and revenge. It was so easy for him, Dean thought of his father then. Dean could express his love through the relentless hunt of a demon. Killing was easier than this. But killing wasn’t going to get through to Cas-Cas, who from the beginning of time was himself a means to an end. He was at times the healer, the protector, and like Dean, the killer. They were like two soldiers on separate ends of time, trying their best at this moment to meet. And it wasn’t working.

            Yeah, gutting a thousand Abaddons or Azazels or Aleisters was a lot easier than telling Cas how he truly felt.

            “I should go,” the angel said.

            “Cas! Stop!” he wasn’t about to let him just fly away like that. Now was your moment.

            “What is it, Dean?” Cas looked at him with those sad blue eyes. He had wanted that boy in the bar. He wanted to kiss him. To be close to him. To see how far he could get. And he wanted him because he was like Cas. That was truth. Dean knew he couldn’t hide from it anymore.

            “Please stay. There’s still a lot I need to talk to you about.” He felt winded. Dizzy with nervousness. “Can you sit down?” Cas did as he asked and Dean, feeling weak in his knees managed to make his way over to the bed and sit next to him. He let his eyes wander across his face, at his big large eyes, the sharp cheekbones, his lips and his neck, slightly tanned from the sun. It was Jimmy Novak’s body but somehow when Dean had met Jimmy, he felt nothing for him but Cas, Cas was like gravity. Possessed by the angel, there was a different light behind his eyes, a certain magnetism that felt in of itself like a force of nature.

            Cas was perfectly comfortable being so close to him. Like Dean, he examined the other’s features with unabashed intimacy. It wasn’t the first time they were so physically close like this. It used to frustrate Dean especially when Cas, in his awkward angelic nature seemed completely nonplussed by the short distance between them, so short Dean could feel the hair on skin radiating towards Castiel as if they too were moved by the electricity between them. Maybe that’s just how dorky little angels are, Dean thought to himself. They don’t know what’s appropriate. And they don’t know the look of want, the look of lust that Dean alone with Cas allowed himself to feel, believing that the angel had no idea. At first, he thought it was the Cas’ power that made him feel that way but when he met Uriel or any other angel for that matter, the absence of any draw was evident.

            “Why do you do all these things for me, Cas?” Dean could barely breathe. He could barely think either.

            “Because we’re friends, Dean.”

            “Friends? Of course. Um, can I ask you another question?” He took a breath, hoping that that would somehow revive him.

            “Of course, Dean. Are you okay?”

            “You...uh...Did you and um...Jason…have...um….” Man, he was acting like a dumb boy trying to get to 1st base.

            “Sex? I don’t know if I should talk about it, Dean. The idea of two men having relations with each other has-”

            “Shut up,” Dean interrupted. “Just answer the question.” His mouth felt so dry and his lips chapped. Maybe if he could just close his mouth...But he could hardly breathe.

            Dutifully, Cas replied, “Yes.”

            Goosebumps crawled up Dean’s skin. How was that supposed to make him feel? Jealous? There was certainly that but then again, there was something else. Cas had gone through with it. He had experienced a man and that idea, somehow made everything more real, made every close encounter, every look that lasted too long and not long enough mean something entirely different than the lie Dean had told himself. Cas with a man….It made his parched mouth wet again.

            “Dean…” Cas looked at him up and down. The angel could sense something different. Perhaps he could tell before that Dean wanted him but he had always buried it. Could he sense it now?

            “When you were um...did he call you Cas or Castiel?” Dean smiled. You’re so stupid, he chastised himself but now his imagination was getting ahead of him.

            “Why do you care, Dean?”

            “Just wondering what you prefer,” he laughed. The angel tilted his head at that and Dean could feel his face go hot with embarrassment.

            “Your pupils are dilated. Your breathing is short and punctuated. Your pulse as well is rapid,” Cas reported with a great curiosity. “You appear to be aroused.” He looked at Dean with such innocence, never thinking for a moment oddly that he could be the cause. He has such a low estimation of himself, Dean realized. He probably just thinks you’re a creep.

            He forced out an awkward laugh. “Yeah, Cas-Castiel.” Did he prefer that?

            “Dean. I told you. I don’t have a preference nor can I understand how you can care about such things while feeling that way.”

            “You are such a dork,” Dean couldn’t even believe it. This was so immensely weird and Cas in his inability to access the situation wasn’t helping. In Dean’s disbelief, he let his forehead fall on the angel’s shoulder and laughed. The discomfort, the awkwardness, the embarrassment all for that moment went away. Cas’ sheer naivety was just too much.

            Maybe this isn’t meant to be, Dean thought to himself. Despite all his desire, maybe him and Cas should just be friends after all. Two soldiers at the opposite ends of time, meeting here in the middle, speaking in different wavelengths, somehow communicating and yet not. Moments like this, so humorous and tender, so ridiculous, were still worth it all. Maybe he’ll never know Cas like Jason had but he knew that Jason would never know what it’s like to rest your head on his shoulder and laugh with him, knowing full well that Cas had no idea what he laughing about but just wanted to experience Dean’s joy. That was only for him and Dean knew it.

            He lifted his head and smiled at Cas. His eyes meeting own. Cas was smiling back at him, knowing that he was indeed such a naive dork. He’s still so clueless, isn’t he? Dean thought to himself. But then just in that moment, as they shared a smile, Cas leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on Dean’s lips. Once their lips had parted, Cas rested his forehead against his.

            “I’m sorry,” he said as if he had crossed a line. And he had. Dean realized then that Cas knew all along. He also knew about the unspoken line that Dean had drawn between them. “I shouldn't have-”

            Before he could finish his sentence, Dean reached over and grabbed Cas’ tie and pulled him in for another kiss, this time it was deep and gratifying. It is different when you kiss someone you love. He had been with so many others in the past-but this, this was something wholeheartedly different. Years and years and Purgatory and Heaven and Hell, every angel, every broken destiny, every death, every sacrifice, all the unspoken words in want of a voice, every single regret, every need suddenly satisfied here in some rundown motel in the middle of San Francisco.

            He wasn’t going to hold back now. Pressing himself against Cas, the angel let himself get pushed back on the bed. Seeing him looking up at him with his wide blue eyes, Dean felt like he was living out some fantasy. He felt so giddy. Undoing his belt, Dean couldn’t hold back his smile. He felt like laughing again.

            “Dean,” Cas looked truly shocked. “Are we gonna have sex?” There it goes. Dean was laughing again and he couldn’t stop. He pulled his shirt off, laughing. Undid Cas’ tie, laughing.

            “Yes, Cas. Unless of course, you don’t want to?” Strangely enough, the act didn’t make Dean feel emasculated at all. In fact, he felt nothing but himself. Butterflies raging in his gut but he was normal. He was comfortable, good. When he leaned down and painted wet kisses along Cas’ prickly jawline, it felt utterly natural. Liberating even.

            “No, Dean-”

            “No?” he pulled back and looked at Cas dead in the eyes.

            “They’re a very bright green when you’re emotional,” Cas reported as if distracted.

            “Do you want to or not?” Dean realized that he was lifting Cas up somewhat off the bed by his shirt. He had been in the middle of undoing the buttons.

            “No. I mean. I want to. I um…didn’t...um...Understand the question.” Their faces were so close, their noses were touching.

            “What are you saying?” Dean was thrilled and he couldn’t resist the idea of playing with him. “You don’t want me to kiss you?”

            “I do-” Dean laid a little kiss on his bottom lip.

            “You don’t want me to touch you.” He squeezed him beneath his slacks.

            “I do-” Cas groaned.

            “You don’t like me anymore, Cas?” He started undoing the button with one hand.

            “I like you a lot-” Cas could hardly speak. “Don’t tease me,” he begged.

            “I’m not teasing you, Cas!” With the shirt completely undone, Dean pulled it and his coat off him. “I just need you to be straight with me. I can tell when you’re lying.” Dean backed up off the bed. Cas was staring up at the ceiling as if somehow heaven would deliver him. “You don’t want me to fuck you-”

            “Dean, you talk so-”

            He got on his knees at the end of the bed, and leaned forward placing his lips so gingerly on the cloth that separated Cas’ penis from him. “You don’t love me…” he said, the movements of his words tickling Cas as he squirmed.

            He didn’t say anything. “Huh?” Dean needy as he was, wanted to hear it. He crawled onto Cas so that they were face to face.

            The angel lifted his hand and touched his cheek sweetly. “You know I do, Dean. Everyone knows.”

            He smiled. “My number one fan.”

            “Do you love me, Dean?”

            “I’ve never said that before, Cas. Kinda cheesy for me. C’mon. Get undressed,” he said as if trying to change the subject. Cas however didn’t press the question. He slipped out of the rest of his clothes and kissed hungrily at Dean’s neck. Wherever his lips went, Dean felt his skin shiver. Soon, Dean was completely naked. Pressed up so close together, their erections rubbing against one another, he felt so good, he thought he’d melt. Maybe they could get to it if they stopped kissing. Dean liked it, liked it more than he’d liked kissing anyone before but his hardness was driving him mad.

            As he pulled away, Cas tried to follow him with his mouth. “You know I’ve been wondering. Do angels have any special...skills…”

            “There are some things,” Cas answered. He lifted himself up so that they were face to face again. “I can stimulate the pleasure receptors in your brain.”

            “You really know how to talk dirty,” Dean joked but as soon as the words left his mouth, Cas had placed his hands on his head and he felt shoot through him a feeling of true ecstasy. Ecstasy that’s it. It was a religious word after all, wasn’t it? Before he could ejaculate Cas had lifted his hand and placed the other on Dean’s testicles. “You’re not going let me cum, are you?” Everything felt so good, so intense, Dean wasn’t sure his body could handle it. Hey, not a bad way to die, he thought to himself.

            “You’re very beautiful when you’re experiencing pleasure, Dean,” Cas reported.

            Exasperated and embarrassed by the sweetness, he retorted a quick shut up before pulling Cas into a tight hug. It was so overwhelming, he felt like he was going to cry. Please don’t cry. Nothing worse than crying during sex. That’s just overdoing it even if it was some weird angelic sex trick, he chastised himself. Unhooking his arm, he went searching for Cas erection. As he stroked it, the angel let out deep moans trying desperately to get out Dean’s name.

            “Look at you,” Dean cradled him in his arm. He spat in his hand and rubbed his testicles. The angel managed to get out his name. “That’s right,” Dean smiled, spitting again into his hands and reaching further down to tight hole and wetting it. “You love me, don’t you? You’d do anything for me. You’d let me fuck you too, wouldn’t you?” It was easier to talk like this than to say sweet nothings.

            Cas opened his eyes and looked straight at him. They were vivid and blue and hungry and desperate. “Do it.”

            “Yes, sir,” Dean smiled and quickly positioning himself in front of him, he lifted up his legs. He’d never done this before. He’d imagine it was different than in porn.

            Cas had seemed to read his mind. “I’m an angel, Dean. You don’t have to….you can just.”

            “Go in?”

            “Yes,” He threw his head back in a deep sigh.

            Pushing himself in, he felt Cas squeeze against him. He went so deep that he was face to face with his angel. “Does it hurt?” he sincerely wanted to know.

            Cas seemed to find it funny. He stroked his face and laughed. He was an angel and Dean was merely a man. “No.” He pressed his forehead against Dean’s again and tightened himself. Dean feared that he’d cum before him. “Deeper and faster.” Dean obeyed. The bed rocked on its springs and smacked against the wall. The sound of it mixed with Cas’ deep groans and the tightness around his dick, he felt that any second he was going to be done for.

            Cas tossed his head back and exposed his neck. He looked so beautiful there. The lines of his throat leading down his shoulders, the bareness where the shadow of his facial hair faded. Dean felt then the warm electric shock of an orgasm. He let out a loud moan, so guttural and so vulnerable that Cas looked up at him. Dean felt it go wet inside of Cas where he had ejaculated. And then, Cas looking at him, stroking himself came. The cum dripped down the tip and the sound, coming from his throat was high pitched and desperate.

            Dean rested his hand against Cas’ penis as he came and felt the hot semen thread through his fingers.

            And then they were there, breathing heavy.

            “Should we...clean…” Cas said bringing it all back to reality.

            “Um… no…” Dean laid down next to him, spent and tickled over with the after buzz of sex. “Normally, we lay here and pass out.”

            “You mean cuddle, Dean?”

            “Sure.” Cuddle. He didn’t like that word. Cas turned towards him and burrowed his face in his chest. Angels didn’t sleep. He just wanted to lie like that, against him.

            _The End_

 

 

 

           

           

 

 

           

 

 

 

           

 

           

 

 

 

 

 

 

           

 

           

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a Supernatural fic-a rather poor one at that. I hope it was amusing at least. ^_-


End file.
